


Danse Macabre

by jinx22



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 1800's AU, Blood and Gore, M/M, Med Student Ferdie, Rating May Change, Sexual Tension, Unlicensed Doctor Hubert, descriptions of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-01-07 22:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21225503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinx22/pseuds/jinx22
Summary: Hubert’s lips purse, and he dips his head, "Indeed. You are the medical student?"As Ferdinand nods again, his eyes betray him and slide to where Hubert peels off one of his black gloves, shoving them into the pocket of his black pants.“Come in then.”





	1. an empty stomach

**Author's Note:**

> This work goes out to Shu/Medishurahan on twitter and their wonderful artwork that inspired me to write this fic! I do hope you enjoy it, if you have not already please go give their art some love (and even if you have already, why the heck not) > https://twitter.com/Medishurahan/status/1178391618497515521

“Oh dear.” Is all Ferdinand can say, as he sees through the slit in the door - Hubert standing with a rusty saw- black gloves pulled up to his elbows and covered in thick blood, a body - if one could even call it that - slumped over a metal table in front of him.

The corpse’s eyes were glazed over with the air of death, mouth agape and teeth missing that - when Ferdinand looked, were in a jar to its left. Dried blood had trickled from its mouth - staining the skin a muddy red colour - and similarly there was a line of blood around the corpses head; almost looking like - and oh  _ heavens _ , Ferdinand was beginning to feel a bit  _ woozy _ \- the skin had been pulled back from the skull.

And the sounds - they slowly filter in through Ferdinand’s ears - the scraping dragging  _ raking  _ noise of saw against bone,  _ blood-chillingly loud _ , and now the only thing Ferdinand finds he can hear especially as his eyes flicker upwards to meet where the saw has made its incision.  


Bile rises in his throat that he forces down, knowing this should be his immediate cue to leave but finding instead that a disgusting part of him dares to follow those hand movements, that insistent hacking and snapping of bone shards.  


Hubert reaches for one of the smaller scalpels beside the cut fingers, and Ferdinand’s eyes follow him as he begins to work at cutting the finer tendons of the leg that still connect, using the sharp edge of the blade to cut through the skin that flicks back like elastic as Hubert slices through it.  


And then with a heavy snap; one that Hubert uses his body weight for, he breaks the leg of the man through the middle of his shin, causing Ferdinand’s legs to shake and stars to appear in his vision. He feels sick with it, and takes a step back to leave because he should  _ not be here _ but, unfortunately, in his clumsiness - he wobbles on his feet and causes the tray he is holding - with a plate of dinner and a mug of steaming hot coffee on top, to clatter around.

It didn’t spill, and Ferdinand is so  _ very _ thankful for a second before he hears Huberts voice come through the door.

“Can I help you?” Hubert’s reply is cold and with it comes a bitterness that makes Ferdinand’s breath still.  


It was not as if when he moved into this house he didn’t know about all the terrible deeds that happened under his feet. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t smelt the rotting corpses, the lingering scents of blood and death.  


It was always in the back of his mind, of course, Hubert’s expertise in this field of work were what prompted him to move here - he just hadn’t realised fully, at the time, that the dissection and  _ experimentation _ went on quite so close.

He had been warned too, by the little old ladies that lived around the corner to watch his step.

Yet as illegal as these activities were, Ferdinand couldn’t find that they bothered him (although perhaps seeing it first hand was a slight bit sickening). Not even when the nights were chilly and there was the echoing of a slow dragging through the hallways, lanterns flickering at the dead of night.

In fact, it did the opposite of bothering him - it sent an odd spark of thrill up Ferdinand’s spine.

Which is why he was at this house, because of the strange interest he had in the medical sciences. Such a new and growing field, and, although he had never stepped outside of what was spoken in books with his research, he had heard about Doctor von Vestra and his experiments.

And although it was not becoming of a young man like himself, one of such a high lineage, to be interested in the ungodly works of the von Vestras he couldn’t help his excitement. Perhaps the long, devilish smirk of Hubert had something to do with it. He was charmed, one might say, into the dark dreadful deeds that went on in his basement.

\--

The moon sits behind a bank of clouds that pour with rain on the day as Ferdinand approaches the Vestra mansion, the dim night shielding any deeds people who slither through the streets plan. There’s a shrill yowling of a cat somewhere down an alley, and it prompts Ferdinand to reach up and knock again as he stands shivering in his coat which is soaked through and dripping onto the doorstep.

He hadn’t expected the rain, for these suburbs are a lot colder and wetter than the ones he lived in.  _ Oh how he wishes he were back there now _ .

There’s a bone chilling creak as the door is pushed open, and behind it a man in a dark button up - yet _not _buttoned up and hanging open across his chest. His gaze narrows at Ferdinand - mint eyes glinting in the moonlight as he tilts his chin up, not needing to ask Ferdinand to speak, for Ferdinand’s mouth is already opening,

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir. We have been in contact about your spare room.” Ferdinand looks up to meet Hubert’s eyes, the rain in his hair forming a drop that slides down his cheek.

Hubert’s lips purse, and he dips his head, "Indeed. You are the medical student?"  


As Ferdinand nods again, his eyes betray him and slide to where Hubert peels off one of his black gloves, shoving them into the pocket of his black pants.  


“Come in then.”

The house is as scary as it looks from the outside, the walls tall and lined with wallpaper that is half peeled away and unkempt. Candles line the walls, and are the only lights provided as they make their way through the house.

Hubert doesn’t stop to chat, and Ferdinand tries to take it in stride,  _ tries _ not to let the spiderwebs and the creaking floorboards chill him, for if he can get through this then Hubert’s work will prove to be such a unique learning experience to his own studies!  


He’s guided up the tall staircase at the end of the hall, trying not to pay any mind to the locked doors or the dark stairs leading deep into the depths of the house. Ferdinand cannot imagine he will be allowed to explore any time soon, and wants to keep any curiosities at bay for the meantime.

He’s led to a room, and Hubert gestures towards it needlessly; “This will be your room.” He looks over his shoulder, pointing with an ungloved hand in another direction, “The kitchen is across the hall. Come there as soon as you have finished unpacking. No detours.”  


Ferdinand only has time to open his mouth and mumble a quick thank you before Hubert is walking away, watching him disappear back down the stairs before slowly turning back to give an eerie glance towards the door that will open to his room.  


He’s surprised, as he pushes open the door, as the room is well lit and the bed seems to be dusted and freshly made. Ferdinand drops his bags by the door and is grateful to peel off his jacket, hanging it over the dresser for lack of a coat rack before beginning to unbutton his white shirt, eager to change into something warm. Perhaps there might even be a bath he could use?

He pulls off his sopping wet shirt too, ridding it in favour for a longer bed shirt he searches through his bag for, beginning to button it up quickly to avoid getting cold. He stands, and the floorboards creak ceremoniously under him as he makes his way around the room, walking across to one of the dusty windows and looking out it.  


Dreary England is all he sees, washing on lines blowing in the wind and rain and candles lighting up windows in the distance. Was this even a good idea? Ferdinand thinks in hindsight. Was this neighborhood even  _ safe _ ?   


It’s too late now, anyway, for he is living here with no chance of going home. His father made that quite clear when he left, to come back only with a degree.  


Ferdinand runs a hand idly across the dusty desk that sits below the window as he loses himself in thought, wondering - _and_ _knowing very well that he should not let his mind wander so_ \- if medicine is truly what he wants to study.

His hand bumps against a cute brass candle holder while he’s trapped in his thoughts, deciding subconsciously that maybe if he were to find a candle for it, it would make the room feel a bit less cold. He could purchase a knitted blanket too, and perhaps a potted plant-

The door creaks below his window and Ferdinand’s attention is drawn back towards it, leaning closer to the glass, foggy from condensation, and raising a hand to wipe across it - spotting figures below talking in hushed whispers.

“Cease your worry, Edelgard. He is no harm to us.” Hubert speaks, and the shoulders of the woman, whom Ferdinand suspects is _ Edelgard _ , shake in laughter.

“I do not fear what harm he will cause. I worry what he may do to your heart.” Edelgard responds.  


“I know not what you mean.” Hubert replies easily, “he is a mere student, one pledged to the textbooks; I suspect.”  


Edelgard watches Hubert as if he’s lying, lips pursed from what Ferdinand can see from the window, “Maybe so.” She responds, “but one must admit he is your type-”

“How do you know of my type-!”

“Once you hesitated to perform an autopsy on a rather pretty dead man, and-”

Ferdinand doesn’t catch the rest, feels as if he should  _ not  _ catch the rest - and pulls away with burning cheeks, busying himself in buttoning his sleeves, pulling another coat from his bag before leaving to wait for Hubert in the kitchen.

\--

“Tis.. just I,” Ferdinand finally announces himself, forcing his voice not to waver and using his foot to push the door ajar a further, “I brought dinner for you, since you missed meal time.” It’s a terrible reason, he realises now, since he had never been invited into the depths of the house - nor had he ever brought Hubert dinner before.  


Ferdinand did not consider himself a _ fool _ , yet he felt foolish for thinking he could get away with something like this.

Hubert turns his head slowly, and the shadows created by the flickering candles that hang from the ceiling fall across his face. Slitted yellow eyes glow with the light from the candle flame, not betraying any surprise Hubert may feel at Ferdinand’s entrance.  


“You do not have permission to be down here-” Hubert’s voice is like poison, and he places down his scalpel which clinks against the metal tray to instead, very purposefully, pick up his handsaw again. Long, thin fingers wrap delicately around the handle which is as worn as the sharp jagged blade, before he turns to stalk slowly across to Ferdinand.  


The saw is dragged against the wood of the autopsy table, scraping like nails on a chalkboard and creating an eerie shrieking alongside the heavy steps of Hubert’s boots. Ferdinand’s gaze filters up slowly, eyes stilling on the blood that was soaked past Hubert’s wrists, wrinkling his nose because the closer Hubert walks, the more Ferdinand could not only  _ see  _ the blood, but recognise its tangy, irony  _ scent _ .

And for however particular it may seem, and even despite the rush of panic through his body, Ferdinand can not help himself but be mesmerized by the way Hubert’s gaze lowers almost to the point of being sultry as he approaches.

His way across the room is made in only a few lengthy strides, not hesitating to back Ferdinand into the wall and hardly needing to raise a hand to do so. He leans close, hand lifting and hitting the wall beside Ferdinand’s face in a _ thud _ that causes the tray Ferdinand clutches to clatter to the ground, Hubert hardly paying attention as he leans his forearm to the wall.

If he were not so shaken with fear, Ferdinand would have made a jibe about terrible cleanliness standards.

Ferdinand’s back hits the concrete hard, his eyes on the bony hand beside him which is oozing and  _ dripping _ with blood that is not it’s own- following it back up to the man who leans closer, head cocked slightly to the side.  


Blood pounds in Ferdinands ears harder now, and his chest throbs tightly as seconds pass while Hubert stares. What was he  _ thinking _ ? Was he deciding if Ferdinand was going to be his newest experiment? Cut him up, dissect him, shove him in a-  


And then he smirks, long and wide, like the grin of a person who was more demon than man. When he speaks, too, his voice is just as eerie; like smooth red wine; “do you think me such a fool that I would not see your interest in my work? That I have not seen your lurking upon where is forbidden?”

Ferdinand feels struck with a feeling he can’t explain. Because the hand that rests beside his face and the sharp bricks pressing into his spine should spark fear, but as he stands there and feels the cold metal of the saw press against his thigh; and when he’s met with that long foreboding smile, he feels nothing but fires in the pit of his stomach.

Hubert was  _ terrifying _ , but he was beautiful.

“I came only to bring you dinner, I know not of what you do down here. To me that body could be but a doll, a_ prop_.” Ferdinand lies, _as if Hubert will believe him_, tilting his chin up slightly in an attempt to prove he is, perhaps, not as scared as he looks. 

If Hubert notices this, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he slides his bony hand down from where it sits on the wall, nails scraping against the broken concrete wall before his fingers pull away to reach for Ferdinand’s cravat. Long fingers are almost  _ gentle _ in a way Ferdinand did not realise Hubert could be, as he takes Ferdinand’s cravat in his palm.  


Time stills around them as Hubert grips lightly onto the material, letting it thread through his fingers like water in a way that feels intimate. Intimate enough, in fact, that it catches Ferdinand’s breath and forces him to swallow thickly against where Hubert’s cold knuckles rest.  


Hubert must notice, because he grips tighter onto the white material - and for that split second, as he does, Ferdinand thinks he might be tugged closer. His mind dare not imagine what a tug such as that could lead too, however.

But then Hubert speaks, and the moment is broken, and Ferdinand can let out the breath he had been holding, “ _ this _ is not your area of expertise, Ferdinand.”  


It’s just above a whisper, and once again Ferdinand feel captured, or entranced by Hubert’s gaze as his cravat is gently dropped, tucked into where it was sitting neatly amongst the layers of Ferdinand’s white shirt and waistcoat.  


“However,” And he keeps Hubert’s eyes as the razor side of the handsaw slides along the inside of Ferdinand’s thigh, “if you are so interested, you may join me tomorrow noon,” Huberts eyes seem to focus on where his hand sits, still patting down Ferdinand’s cravat, “come with an empty stomach.” 


	2. such as a heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful @olivier_ebooks and @atinygayfrog for the beta'ing!  
And of course a big thank you to @medishurahan who still helps me with the plot and above all the inspiration for this fic!
> 
> Make sure to check me out on twitter @captainjinx_ !

It was impossible to concentrate on his homework after that encounter. 

What had excited Ferdinand earlier when he saw Hubert at work now had the opposite effect on him. Ferdinand wouldn’t go so far to say that he’s _ scared _ of what’s to come, rather more nervous - or _ unprepared _ if you like; in class at University they have only _ just _ approached the idea of cadavers. 

The notion of touching one, or worse: dissecting one and spreading it apart and staring into the face of death--

Another twinge of fear passes through his stomach, and Ferdinand has to grip the side of the table where he sits before he becomes swept up in another attack of _ panic _and his dinner makes itself known again.

Remaining hopeful that a situation in which he was invited to watch an operation could have any different meaning is difficult. As much as Ferdinand would like to think he would only be there to observe, he is sure that Hubert intended on throwing him into the deep end as soon as possible. 

He would surely have Ferdinand handle someone’s insides, slice through skin and blood and bone-

Ferdinand closes his eyes tightly and lets out a short breath of air that fogs up the window in front of him. Perhaps he was overthinking everything; maybe he _ would _ get lucky and Hubert will just have him cleaning dirty rags! 

With another deep breath, he manages to blink his eyes open as the panic slowly fades, focusing on the rain that hits the window in front of him and the gentle pitter-patter of droplets against tin roofs. His thoughts drift elsewhere and for that he is glad, fading into easy thoughts about how it never seems to stop raining in this dreary little city. Thinking about how despite the rain, his room had grown warmer in the months spent inside with candles that now decorate the tabletops and a bookshelf that was slowly filling up with textbooks Hubert deemed inadequate. 

Perhaps this is another reason he is struggling to concentrate: knowing the literature that sat open in front of him and that he was taking notes from is inaccurate. Hubert had soiled each and every book Ferdinand had held close to himself with reasons upon why they were untrue, and now, as Ferdinand had seen how Hubert gathered his knowledge, he can’t dismiss the man as being just a crazy scientist. 

Damn him to hell. 

With a short puff of breath to blow out his candle that casts the room into darkness, Ferdinand stands and turns from his text in favour of sleep; he may as well try to get rest for class tomorrow if he can't concentrate on his studies.

It’s a slow day of classes that follows and Ferdinand finds he cannot sit still through any of them, especially not when Hubert had met him that morning with a knowing look and a growing smirk as he made his way into the depths of the house. As if Hubert did not know exactly what he was doing with that smirk - completely throwing off Ferdinand’s promise to himself that he wouldn’t waste a second of thought to what would be happening that night.

Yet, with a mind full of worries and a stomach tight with anxieties, he trudges his way through the very rainy and awfully damp weather to his class.

The university is a beautiful building, despite the grey clouds that sat atop it. Not only a beautiful sight, with deep green grounds that spanned across a wide grassy area, littered with golden and orange maple trees and surrounded by tall black street lamps; it is also a well recognised Medical School for the more privileged students. Ferdinand himself, despite having the bare minimum interest in his current field of study, knows he is lucky to attend - many missed out on such an opportunity and that, for Ferdinand, is enough to drive him to attend his classes. It helps quite a lot that, because of this school, he had met two of his closest friends; for that fact alone he can be thankful his father bullied him into attending. 

Shaking the thoughts from his head with a long breath, Ferdinand begins to make his way toward the large steps that lead up to arched wooden doors, surrounded by more arched windows that gleam gold from the inside. He was dreading this day entirely, not for class itself but for what lays in wait when he arrives home. 

It can't be soon enough when class ends and Ferdinand is able to make his way home; practically bouncing with nerves as he enters the creaky old house again, nearly jumping out of his skin when Hubert meets him at the front of the house, hands covered in -

In blood-- 

“Long day in class?” Hubert’s voice is low, and Ferdinand’s eyes feel fixated on where the blood trickles down his wrist into his sleeve, swallowing the lump that suddenly forms in his throat. If Hubert notices him staring, he doesn't say anything.

Ferdinand manages only to nod, blinking a few times until he feels brave enough to look up at Hubert, “yes, I -... It has been quite a long day.”

Hubert chuckles again - if one can call it a chuckle. It sounds more like a deep, dark rumble from his chest accompanied with a smirk that doesn't quite reach his darkened gaze. “We don’t want you being too tired now, do we?”

_ Is that a threat? _

“No I, I am fine.” Ferdinand laughs nervously, watching as Hubert crosses past him, opening his mouth to speak when Hubert meets his eyes with narrowed slits.

“See you this evening. Do not get lost.”

\--

The house feels like it goes on forever. 

That isn’t even counting the doors locked with bolts and chains, the passages secret and hidden away from prying eyes. And with only his fifth week in this terrifying house, Ferdinand has found himself lost in corridors or trapped atop stairs unsure of which way was up or down on more than one occasion.

He can at least be thankful for the fact that Hubert spends so much of his time in the depths of the manor, saving him the embarrassment of being found somewhere he shouldn’t be.

It seems that luck is on his side on this occasion too, for Hubert is nowhere to be seen; gone are the usual sounds of metal and clinking from the depths of the house. Instead they are replaced with an eerie silence that follows Ferdinand through the small corridor he is currently lost in.

Brass chamberstick in hand and candle glowing from the flame lit upon it, Ferdinand continues down the hallway. The floorboards creak under every step he takes and the warmth from the candle is the only comfort provided in the dark space. He thinks as he drags his fingers against the old wallpaper that the walls; like his bedroom once, could certainly use more candles. 

The wandering ends soon enough though as Ferdinand is finally forced to come to a halt in front of a beautiful mahogany door, glowing with brilliant orange and gold from under the wood that streams across the floorboards in the musty hallway. It’s hypnotising, just slightly, and in that brief moment while transfixed by the glowing colours he reaches out to push the door open, taking a step forwards automatically. Eyes widen and jaw drops almost comically as he’s greeted with one of the most beautiful libraries he can ever remember laying his eyes upon, the amber of the candle reflecting in his gaze and painting a portrait of pure curiosity.

His mouth snaps shut quickly after it falls open, eyes following the golden glow to a fireplace just as incredible as the surrounding walls that are tall and full of bookshelves, each and every one - Ferdinand realises as he gets closer - crammed with medical literature from around the world. 

A finger is traced across the spine of one book, casting a line through the dust to expose the olive green colour underneath; certainly a sight to behold, Ferdinand thinks as a grin pulls at his cheeks, continuing down the wall while his eyes roam across the various authors. It’s outstanding, the amount of literature -_ books Ferdinand thought to be lost or unattainable _ \- and as his heart swells he can hardly resist the temptation to pull one from its home on the shelf - with it an abundance of dust that he brushes away before opening the text.

Dust puffs into his face (how long had these novels remained untouched?) from what was hidden between the pages and he sneezes loudly, twice - _ thrice - _ in fact _ , _ waving a hand in front of his nose to fan the rest of it away before freezing at the dark, looming voice from across the hall. 

“I see you found my library.” 

The voice is startling! Startling enough that in his moment of fear Ferdinand quickly smacks the book shut, gripping it to his chest as his heart thuds - practically choking on his own fear as turns around to spot Hubert sitting on a large elegant chair as if waiting.

Waiting! Was the man a type of ghoul?

One leg is crossed over the other, and he is poised so calmly that Ferdinand believes even _ stronger _ that Hubert knew he was coming. He would even dare to say he would not be surprised if Hubert turned out to be a soothsayer.

Cheeks warm with blush from the look that Hubert gives him for his lack of reply - one eyebrow raised, the corners of his lips pulled upwards in amusement and eyes glistening gold, and Ferdinand clears his throat when hurrying to speak back. He feels unable to focus on much now that he has calmed down aside for how _ handsome _ Hubert looks dressed _ not in his usual black shirt _ but a white shirt, layered with a waistcoat and a maroon cravat. 

He did not realise that the man knew how to dress in anything but a black shirt until now.

Thoughts aside, Ferdinand manages to make himself speak. “Forgive me, I merely stumbled across this room. My curiosity took over; I have not seen so many books before.” Ferdinand admits, his voice loud and crisp in the silent room. 

“Most of them are inaccurate.” Hubert wastes no time in replying, standing from where he sits and placing the long trail of parchment he had been writing on against the matching mahogany table, followed by his quill which leaves a big black splotch of ink on the paper. Next are his wireframe glasses, which he pulls off slowly to rest atop the paper before making his way across to Ferdinand in a few easy steps, extending a hand for the textbook he holds. 

Ferdinand feels struck with fear amongst other emotions, so he holds out the book slowly and without question - watching as Hubert turns it over in his hand, reading the title before scoffing. 

“As I said,” he drops the book down onto a table, letting it flick open to a bookmarked page that has messy, curly handwriting under some text and figures - “inaccurate.”

Hubert is already walking away when Ferdinand steps forward, running his finger along the lines of writing and seeing where pictures are crossed out and figures are drawn over the top in the same messy scrawl. Ferdinand turns a page, and it’s the same - and another page and another with all the same messy scribbling writing. “How do you know?”

“My research contradicts it.” 

\--

“This is not how they do it in the books,” Ferdinand manages to get out as Hubert makes a deep incision into the hollow of the base of the man’s jugular, sliding the blade down slowly and cutting a line until he reaches the ribcage - _ not that the body in front of him is even recognisable as a human at this point. _

The ribs are already half caved in and Ferdinand can only presume that it’s the result of an ugly death. The man’s stomach is sunken and wears skin that’s still warm to the touch proving to Ferdinand that this - _ this _was not a cadaver. This was a fresh body.

_ Holy Mary Mother of God _.

“This is why I’m doing it in a basement, at midnight.” 

Hubert speaks but Ferdinand can barely hear him, too busy trying not to blanch as the slice of the blade oozes sticky, goopy blood where it cuts, the skin once taut, now recoiling back wide enough to reveal a contrasting sickly yellow of abdominal fat. It oozes and drips and mingles with the bright red blood that drips down the sides of the carcass; all the while Hubert acting like he is not bothered at all.

“Is this how you-” 

Hubert grips the skin with bare hands like it’s a _ doll _ and not a human, pulling it back with a smooth rip to reveal the organs below the skin and already reaching in with his knife to cut away at the muscle and the tendons- 

How he can see with the amount of blood now up to his forearms, Ferdinand does not know. It sticks to his fingers, clunks of flesh and clotted blood dribbling down his wrists as if it is _ nothing _.

Ferdinand’s mouth goes dry, his sentence lost as he bares witness to- No, no he simply cannot watch anymore. 

So he turns away, focusing instead on the dry rot in the corner of the basement wall and the shadows that flicker from the candles placed on a table in the center of the room, “is this how you obtained your - _ research. _”

There’s a spattering sound, and Ferdinand doesn’t want to turn around to see what it’s coming from.

“Indeed it is.” Hubert replies, reaching back to the table to Ferdinand’s left to pick up another scalpel. There’s another tearing sound, and Ferdinand forces a long breath through his nose - hating the soft chuckle that comes from where Hubert stands.

“Is something the matter, Ferdinand? I thought you were ready to help me.” The words would not be so frightful if not for the fact that he hears the shuffle of feet as Hubert steps closer to him; his body is close enough that Ferdinand can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt and his face is even closer - enough so that he can hear the soft breaths that come through Hubert’s parted lips.

His eyes are firmly closed, and as Hubert shifts to reach for one of his own hands Ferdinand’s eyes continue to stay closed, wrinkling at the ends as his face scrunches up in worry. Cool fingers run down from his elbows to his wrists as his hands are pulled up and palms turns upwards, and Ferdinand can hardly breathe as he feels the weight of something _ wet _ and _ oozing _being placed into them.

Oh God. Oh no. No nononono.

His stomach drops and he feels too struck with fear to move, hoping that the thumping he feels is Hubert’s pulse and not what is currently sitting and dribbling blood through his fingers and splattering onto the floor under him.

Huberts face feels even closer now too, his lips parting beside Ferdinand’s ear and his breath hot against Ferdinand’s cheek, “open your eyes.”

Ferdinand really does not want to, but Hubert’s voice is so smooth and coaxing, so silky and warm against the shell of his ear; so he does. And thank goodness for Hubert’s hands cupping his own when he does, for it stops him from shaking. And thank God for the chest against his back that keeps him from being able to back away, and Huberts arms pressed tightly against him, and the head that now rests against his shoulder and stops him from bolting out the door. 

“I-- w-what--” he swallows the bile in his throat, “what- is it?”

The organ thumps in his hand, and Ferdinand almost drops it - feeling his eyes dampen as Hubert rolls it over in his hands and smudges the blood further up Ferdinand’s arms.

“A heart.”

It thumps again, and Ferdinand cowers back into Hubert’s chest further, turning his head away yet at the same time unable to keep his gaze from the beating organ, spurting and dribbling blood through his fingers with every beat. 

“Why is it--... b-beating?”

“It’s still dying.” Hubert speaks like honey, stroking a finger idly across the back of the heart, pressing down as more blood guzzles out of it and into Ferdinand’s palm, making him flinch and swallow as the clots dribble out. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

The heart continues to beat, and Ferdinand thinks it must be a rhetorical question.

He almost kicks himself for questioning further.

“How does it-.. continue to beat.”

Hubert smirks as if he was waiting for that question, his arms pressing in tighter against Ferdinand’s arms as he sinks further against Ferdinand’s back - “you have been taught that there is only one time of death, no?” Hubert asks, rolling the organ over in Ferdinand’s hands again as it oozes and thumps.

“That statement is wrong,” he presses in closer and Ferdinand lets out a breath as he feels every inch of Hubert pressing against him, “I believe that parts of the body shut down in different times during death. One’s heart still may stay intact if the patient died of brain damage, like a headless chicken. Although dead the body’s nerves are still on high alert, pumping out impulses and creating electrical currents affected by the surrounding environment.”

Ferdinand can hardly understand a word of what Hubert is saying, but he feels carried away with the words anyway. There’s something strangely arousing about the way Hubert speaks, the tone - the silk of his voice. “Such as a heart.” Ferdinand murmurs softly, jumping slightly as he feels Hubert’s smirk pull wide against his neck. 

“Such as the heart.” He punctures the words, his fingers wapping tighter around Ferdinand’s hand, thumb stroking idle circles into Ferdinand’s wrist, “the heart itself is regulated by the brain but, _ but _ \- a heart-” he presses his hand down against Ferdinand’s pulse and Ferdinand has to stop himself from trembling at the intimacy of it all, “the heart has its _ own _ nervous system controlling the heartbeat - the brain only tells it when to beat. These nerve cells will continue to fire for an extended period of time, prolonging the process of beating.”

“And you discovered this?” Ferdinand asks softly, practically hearing a smug smirk from Hubert before he pulls away, finally taking the bleeding heart back across to his table and leaving Ferdinand with blood stained hands.

“I am in the process of discovering this, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand dips his head in a nod, staring down at his hands as he hears Hubert shuffling around behind him. His skin still tingles where it had been touched: not by said organ but by Hubert’s long fingers and sharp nails, and Ferdinand has to let out a shuddering breath, clenching his fists together as to not completely forget himself. A shaky breath leaves parted lips, before he slowly looks up, sight hazy as he turns to watch Hubert place the- the _ heart _ down on a metal tray, picking up some paper to write some notes. 

“You may leave. I have things to finish up here.” Hubert seems nonchalant, so Ferdinand nods - he would have struggled to speak anyway - as he makes his way towards the exit.

He finds his way through the winding corridors quicker than he ever has before, the long hallways seeming like nothing now as he walks until he’s able to jog his way up the steps to his bedroom.

It’s a blur, and when he shuts the door he leans his forehead against the wood - unable to see anything except for Huberts eyes, the blood dribbling through his fingers, the red that still stains his hands.

Yet despite this, Ferdinand finds himself unwilling to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: a divine songstress


	3. the divine songstress

The city bustled with life. 

Beautiful women gossiped in groups of two or three with their stunning gowns and overdressed, feathery hats, and mothers with babies walked down stone streets with fanciful prams. Young men leant against the shop fronts, chatting in small groups and enjoying the unusual sunny weather for once, tipping their hats to the ladies who passed them in fits of giggles.

Ferdinand had no such luck of a warm welcome, though, as the horse drawn cart he sits in clicks and clacks as it rolls down the bumpy street. People  _ do _ move to part ways for the beautiful steed pulling it, however and there is no lack of attention as civilians turn to glance towards those the cart carries… but their hands always seemed to still and their eyes always seemed to dart away upon seeing who steered said cart. 

Was von Vestra that well known as someone who you should avoid?

However, the averted gazes and quick scurrying of people didn’t seem to bother Hubert at all. In fact, he seemed quite happy! (As far as Ferdinand could tell, that was.) 

Gone was the stagnant hunch of his shoulders and in replacement was something of a more relaxed posture as he lent back into the wooden seat of the carriage; soaking in the rare sunlight as much as those who walked the streets did. With one leg crossed over the other, reins loose and relaxed in his hand while gazing across the streets, they rode on - all the while with something akin to a smile on his face. 

Ferdinand smiles too, unable to help it, while watching Hubert sit there with his pale skin almost glowing white as the sunlight reflects from it; still dressed in all black, of course, with a long cape-like coat fit fitted with several silver buttons. To top it off, he wore a top hat; black and bearing a tall feather matching the whisper like carvings on the black cane he carries, now leaning against the seat between himself and Ferdinand.

He looks  _ handsome _ , Ferdinand thinks as he stares, finding; amongst how bizarre that thought is, he also does not know how to cope with that sudden realisation. 

Finally pulling his gaze away and forcing it elsewhere, Ferdinand sinks back into the wooden seat as they continue riding down the street. More shops roll past, and Ferdinand allows his mind to drift as he tilts his head up into the sun, sun-starved skin basically drinking up the sunlight. How rare it was that he was almost  _ warm _ under the many layers of waistcoat and jacket; if not for the breeze that also mussed his strands of ginger hanging loose from his ponytail, he would need to de-cloth a bit.

London would never be so kind as to gift them a  _ proper  _ sunny day, though.

However it  _ did _ feel nice to be riding through the city. The journey reminded him of home in ways; his luxurious life of horse drawn carriages and long rides through the sunny countryside, afternoons spent drinking tea and then going back home only to curl up amongst his red silk sheets, reading Pride and Prejudice beside candlelight. 

Gossiping with his closest purple haired friend while drinking tea in one of the many courtyards either of their estates offers.

The clacking of horse hooves finally comes to a stop, dragging Ferdinand back to the reality that no, he is not in his beautiful green countryside estate eating biscuits. He glances to Hubert for unspoken instructions, and with a nod of his head Ferdinand is being signalled to follow. 

Hubert doesn’t wait up to see if Ferdinand follows, grabbing his cane and turning his back as he crosses past the horse without a second glance while it snorts and whinnies. Very much unlike Ferdinand himself who stops to give the creature a pat, eyes following Hubert curiously as he walks -- and the crowd of shoppers parts -- towards the fresh food stalls set up along the side of the road. 

It’s a peculiar sight, the way old women stare at him, a regular person would be most irked by it. Yet, Ferdinand thinks, he is sure Hubert must enjoy it for the smirk on his face grows.

Ferdinand jogs along after him eventually, quickening his pace to catch up when something out the corner of his eye catches his attention. He double takes, walking a few steps backwards to look through the shiny clean window of the storefront upon which sits one of the most incredible violins Ferdinand has ever seen. 

It’s a rich orangey brown wood, varnished and reflecting the light that streams through the window. In the sides there is carved a delicate pattern, burnt into the wood and creating a deeper, darker shade of brown.

It’s stunning, and Ferdinand can’t help but walk closer; placing a delicate hand against the glass as he leans in and-

“What are you looking at?”   
  
He pulls back quickly, hand dropping to his side and face lighting up in a blush. Hubert does not sound accusing, for which Ferdinand is glad, he sounds more so... curious, or mysterious.

It’s still unnerving though, and Ferdinand finds he would rather not get into such a personal conversation, not with something he holds to dear to his heart -- he is not ready to be teased and ridiculed for his passion of music and orchestra. So he shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively, murmuring out a quick, “tis nothing at all!” and going to step away when Hubert steps in, placing a hand against the small of Ferdinand’s back to stop him from backing up further.

Hubert narrows his eyes as he looks through the window, expression quizzical. 

“A violin?” His voice is low, and the hand upon his back feels  _ heavy  _ and  _ hot _ against where it touches, seeping through his clothing and making his stomach jump into his throat. Goosebumps pool under where it brushes, and his face feels hot and ill prepared for such a scenario-

Even more so than just the hand against him, because it’s  _ odd _ that Hubert is feeling so suddenly curious, for someone who had no interest in him a few months ago and  _ especially _ not after their last encounter when Ferdinand so squeamishly ran away from an autopsy. Hubert should be exhausted of him, he should be ready for Ferdinand to graduate and leave.

Not this;  _ warm _ , and familiar. 

Does Hubert not realise what a dangerous game he is playing by being this forwards? Does he not know Ferdinand is --

The hand shifts upwards, resting between his shoulder blades now, and Ferdinand has to clear his throat to focus -- compelled to answer now as his stomach twists with something not unlike unease but also not unlike  _ want  _ as those fingers dig into his skin. 

There is also something that makes his chest feel like it’s exploding into a million shards of glass - he cannot tell if that one is a good or bad feeling though.

“It is beautiful, I was admiring it.”

Hubert nods, and his hand circles once before dropping, tone still affectionate and  _ playful  _ which is even  _ more _ bizarre when it comes from a man who cuts up dead bodies for a living. 

“You play.”    
  
It’s more of a statement than a question, and Ferdinand wonders how Hubert knows - perhaps he had spies or secret passages and holes in the walls of the mansion to find out what Ferdinand was doing every moment.

Somehow the thought did not surprise him.

He clears his throat, again, keeping his eyes on the instrument too scared of his own emotions should he turn to glance at Hubert. 

“I used to.” It’s not a lie. “I learned when I was a young boy,” That is also neither a lie nor the truth upon why he was gazing so wantonly.

**

“Ferdinand looks more tired than you today, Linhardt.” A teasing voice comes, followed by a laugh and then a prod in his shoulder that forces Ferdinand to sit up straighter. 

“Pardon?” He asks, glancing towards the perpetrator of the poke who just laughs and shakes her head, tucking a strand of cream-blonde hair behind her ear. 

“You look exhausted. Has Lord Vestra been keeping you up all night?” 

Ferdinand can hardly manage to keep his cheeks from darkening, voice a tad bit squeaky when he replies; “Mercedes, I have no idea what you are talking about.” 

Perhaps answering it honestly would have been a better way to go rather than denying it. 

“I mean, in the past whenever you have attended class looking exhausted it is usually because of-” 

“Linhardt!” A softer voice chides, tutting at him, “leave the poor thing alone. He can barely keep his eyes open.”

She’s right, and Ferdinand stifles another yawn to prove that point. He had indeed been up all night, kept up by scraping noises from the basement of the house, the chattering of more than one voice and heavy tools clanking and echoing through the halls. 

“He tends to be more busy at night than during the day.” Ferdinand’s voice is slurred as he finally forces himself to sit up, lifting his exhausted body with one hand against the library table amongst the piles of books and tall candlesticks, yawning and rubbing his free hand across his eyes again, “It grows hard to fall asleep with all the noises.”

“Like the cutting up of dead bodies in his basement?”   
  
“Linhardt!” Is snapped softly towards the green haired man.

“I am simply going off all the rumours I hear,  _ Marianne _ .” Linhardt doesn’t pause to let anyone talk, “ _ Apparently _ the screams of his victims can be heard blocks away, crying in the night-”

“They are simply that,” Ferdinand cuts in before Linhardt can continue, “rumours.”

They were not rumours.

At least, the blood drops on the floorboards and the white clothes stained red said otherwise. Ferdinand had not heard any screaming yet, but with only nine weeks into his stay he was sure there was more to revealed.

It had been tempting to find out the truth about these rumors himself and attempt venturing deep into the von Vestra mansion… but the fear that it would be his body on the autopsy table kept him at bay.

Ferdinand guesses his face does not bare certainty for everyone looks unsure, all three breathing a silent, thankful sigh of relief when Marianne’s soft voice breaks the tension -- cutting it with a knife. 

Like the knives Hubert used, Ferdinand was sure.

“My father managed to secure me an extra ticket to the opera house,” she starts and Ferdinand casts his gaze towards her, suddenly every thought about Hubert vanishing. She notices, and raises a hand to her lips to hide a giggle, as does Mercedes and Linhardt when Ferdinand brushes a stray hair behind his ear, asking as casually as he  _ can _ manage,

“Who- um, who are you well, seeing at the opera?” 

If it was who he thought it may be, he would just kick himself for not realising she was visiting earlier.

“The divine songstress.” Marianne finishes, and everyone bursts into a fit of giggles as Ferdinand’s jaw drops open, a flourish of excitement running through his stomach. Oh how could he have possibly failed to miss an update on his idol? 

One of the most - no,  _ the most _ , in Ferdinand’s humble opinion, incredible opera singers and violinists alive. He had followed her work religiously for the best part of his life; from his first opera he attended with his father at seven years of age where she had opened his eyes to the magical world of theatre and music to even  _ now,  _ where her work still inspired him. And he had somehow managed to miss a poster? 

“If you are not too busy, Ferdinand, I would like to invite you along.”

Ferdinand shot up off his seat in excitement immediately with a loud, “Oh yes, please!” before he covered his mouth as his friends burst out into a fit of giggles, hearing other students shush him from around the room.

He sits again finally, and in a lower, whispered voice speaks, “How did you… know that I was a well,... fanatic?”

“Ferdinand.” Mercedes finally speaks, a tone of humour and teasing in her voice that Ferdinand  _ immediately _ does not like, “I feel you do not realise how much you hum her lyrics under your breath while you work.”

Oh right. 

He supposed he  _ did _ sing her music to himself a lot, just never realised anyone  _ listened _ .

“Her voice is just so powerful. So are her melodies.” He opens his mouth, but closes it again in favour for biting down on his bottom lip. No one wanted to hear him ramble on about his dreams, not when they were medical students and his aspirations were the least medical based an aspiration could get.

It was just impossible to not feel shaken to the bone at some of the lyrics the Divine Songstress Manuela provided. They were so honest and emotional; the raw energy behind her voice and her incredibly crafted violin. Ferdinand craved to one day bring the same feelings he felt during her performances to others, stand up on a stage in front of thousands of people; use music to make them feel, make them dance and sing and fall in love. 

That was more power than any doctor could hold. 

But here Ferdinand was, trapped in this degree and trapped reading books that made sense theoretically but lacked a passion the other students (and God forbid, even _Hubert_; methods questionable or not_)_ found in this field. 

If only some day he could get out of it.

**

“Ferdinand.” Hubert’s sharp tone cuts through his thoughts, and he blinks a few times before looking back to the man who almost looked...  _ concerned? _

“Pardon? Sorry, I was … drifting.”

Hubert keeps his eyes on Ferdinand, before turning back to the instrument in the window. “I said you should take it up again.”

“Take up-?”

“Violin. Goodness, Ferdinand, it’s like you’ve entered another world.” There was that fondness again. Why was Hubert even acting so  _ fond _ .

Ferdinand only shakes his head, “I could never.” He replies, eyes gazing back across to where the beautiful piece of woodwork sits, waiting to be strummed and stroked and- “An instrument such as this is far too expensive and anyhow, I am learning to be a  _ physician _ not an instrumentalist.” He turns back around, finally, to Hubert and brushes the invisible pieces of dirt from the front of his coat, off. 

Enough of that silly dreaming nonsense! He had plenty of time to think about it later, when he sat in bed at night and remembered those grand performances, now was not the time for they had a reason of being in town today and Ferdinand did not feel like taking up anymore of Lord Vestra’s time.

“Now!” He claps his hands together, breaking whatever moment Hubert seemed to be having with the violin through the glass window, “for what reason are we in town today?”

The way Hubert’s brow twitches proves his continuous suspicion. But nevertheless, he nods, and gestures his hand vaguely further down the street. “Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: my dear friend


End file.
